


Gilded Comfort

by movies_michelle



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7392229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/movies_michelle/pseuds/movies_michelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While John was always aware of his loss, there were days when he felt he could almost move as well as the stories said he did, times when the pain in his leg receded to the point where he could almost lose it in the broken rhythm of his own gait, ignorable enough to allow his mind to go to other things.</p>
<p>Today wasn't one of those days.</p>
<p>In which there is an ugly bathtub, sex, some hurt/comfort, and Flint and Silver say fuck a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gilded Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to M'Lyn and feochadn for the beta! And feochadn for introducing me to the show.

Silver surveyed the hold, doing his best to hide the strain of walking, moving, and even standing at the moment.

Their latest plunder had been a good haul taken from a ship sending supplies to the New Providence and its new governor. The supplies would help the combined Maroon colony and pirate base even more with food stuffs, as well as more than a few guns. 

When he laid eyes on the thing, he voiced his honest thoughts, which he hoped would also do to distract the others, "Well, that's the ugliest fucking thing I've ever seen."

It drew a laugh from the men nearby, as he'd hoped.

"Who would even want such a thing?" Billy asked, looking at it bemusedly.

"Some rich prick willing to make his slaves haul the water to fill it," John said, examining it. Yes, it was still ugly. It was a bathtub, but one unlike any he'd seen before: wooden as most were, but the outside was covered with carvings of grape leaves and cherubs, all of which were gilded in such a way to make them both shiny and shabby at the same time. 

He turned to Billy and smiled. "I'm sure we can find someone to pay well for it. Keep it wrapped up and stow it away."

"Belay that," said a voice from behind Silver.

Silver turned to see the captain walking towards him, most of the blood from the battle wiped clear from his face, but still looking fierce and intense in a way that let Silver know it would be a long night of keeping the men from him.

"Take it ashore to my cabin," Flint said to Billy.

"Why?" Silver couldn't help asking.

Flint smiled. It was a smile that made most men scramble in fear. In times past it would have sent Silver backing away in self-defense, though these days it sent more of a thrill down his spine. What the fuck was wrong with him, he thought to himself, not for the first time. 

"Because I'm a rich prick."

*

While John was always aware of his loss, there were days when he felt he could almost move as well as the stories said he did, times when the pain in his leg receded to the point where he could almost lose it in the broken rhythm of his own gait, ignorable enough to allow his mind to go to other things.

Today wasn't one of those days. It hadn't been one of those days for a while, he thought, as he walked as carefully as he could up the beach to the captain's hut, hoping the sweat from the heat covered the sweat from pain he knew was developing. He nodded and spoke with each man who passed him, and they all nodded or smiled back, none trying to detain him long, thank god. If he could get through the meeting with Flint quickly enough, he hoped he could make it back to his own quarters where he could muffle his own screams in his bedding and take some weight off his legs, at least.

It had been hot enough recently that his left leg, what was left of it, was swelling in the boot, causing the leather to rub painfully against the stump. He'd not been able to clean and tend to it as well as he should have recently with all of the re-fortifications and planning for the next battle.

On the other side, his right thigh felt as if it were on fire, and because he'd been trying to not put as much weight on the boot, something had gone wrong in his hips, a twist of pain now ever-present shooting all the way from his pelvis around to the small of his back and up. To make matters worse, last he'd been onboard ship, he'd grabbed one of the guideropes when a particularly strong wave had hit, and he'd somehow wrenched his shoulders in a bad way, which hadn't left him since, the pain flaring up now and then as he moved.

And just to add insult to injury, the bottom of his non-existent left foot had been itching like fuck for two days straight. 

Fuck his life, John thought, as he carefully tottered up the two steps into the captain's hut, and tried his damnedest to make it look natural.

After the first battle on the Maroon island, Madi had readily agreed that Flint should have quarters on the island itself, somewhere it was easier for her and her advisors to come and meet with him and the others in the pirate rebellion to discuss strategy. She had even offered volunteers from her own people to assist in the building of the hut, and suggested the best spot to give a good vantage of bay while being readily accessible to the paths towards the village. John had been amused and pointed out to her that it had escaped neither his nor the captain's notice that while Flint's hut was well and truly outside of the village itself, John's own quarters on the island were well within the center of the village.

Madi had smiled serenely, unconcerned if the indication of her continued distrust of Flint was noted or caused offense, and told John he was free to bed down wherever he was most comfortable.

This had given him pause, but when he'd looked at her more closely, she had simply continued to smile before she walked away. It wasn't the first time she had indicated she knew about that side of John's relationship with Flint, and it wasn't the last.

As John walked into the hut, he noted the tub, still hideous, but now filled with steaming water and in the center of the open room, a chair sitting next to it. Flint, seated at his table and going over charts, did not look up as John entered. John allowed himself one brief moment of vulnerability, here in front of this man. He placed a hand on the back of the chair turning so that the whiteness of his knuckles would not be visible to Flint, should he look.

"The supplies have been stowed," John began, praying he could get through this meeting quickly, "and Madi is seeing to the storing of the guns in a--"

"Strip," Flint said, interrupting John and not looking up from his charts. 

John stopped and hoped his expression was more rueful smile than grimace. "As flattering as that offer is," John said drily, "I'm not really in the mood for--"

"You've been limping more in the last two days than you have in months," Flint interrupted again, and John felt himself go pale at the words. "You're showing obvious signs of pain. You've not been taking care of your wound, and you're developing new sores under the boot. Again."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, John thought, feeling panic go through him. Who saw? Who noticed?

Flint finally looked up, and something softened, just a little, around his eyes and in his voice, though he continued just as firmly, "None of the men have noticed, as far as I know. I saw, and Madi noted her concerns to me. When I mentioned it, Howell and the healer both agreed this would help with the muscle strain and help clean out the wound better than you've been pig-headedly refusing to do recently. I've got no use for a quartermaster who is completely incapable of moving. So strip and get in the goddamned tub."

John relaxed slightly at the reassurance that none of the men had seen. He wasn't thrilled about Madi noticing, but she'd seen him much worse and merely chastised him for being too stubborn to do himself good. As for Flint...

He thought for a moment about fighting Flint on it, just to see what the Captain would do. Flint wasn't making a plea to him based on their previous intimacy (if you could call their fucks intimacy) or any other leverage, he was simply issuing an order as he would any other. Maybe that made John more inclined to agree than not, but also the water looked so inviting and both his thighs ached like fuck.

Once John began to remove his coat, Flint returned his eyes to his charts, as if assuming the matter settled and no longer concerned with John's state of dress or undress in the least. In the past, John would have at least pretended insult, he thought as he stripped his shirt off over his head, if a lover had seemed so thoroughly indifferent to his nakedness, but now he merely felt relief at not being exposed with all of his weaknesses on display just yet.

At that thought, just as he was about to sit in the chair to remove his real and iron boots, he paused. This would be the first time he'd be completely naked before anyone, even Flint, since the loss of his leg. In their previous encounters on the ship, they'd both stayed at least partially clothed, since one or both could be needed at any time by one of the crew. They'd managed to fuck a couple of times here, and while Flint had stripped down readily (and hadn't John delighted in the exposure of all those freckles, tracing them along his shoulders and back as much as he'd been allowed), John had managed to maintain at least some article of clothing. Flint had not remarked on it.

Perhaps Flint was getting better at reading people, John thought. Or perhaps he was simply getting better at reading John and manipulating him, which did not sit as easily in John's stomach.

"You can get in the water in your clothes," Flint noted after a few more moments, not looking up again as he made a notation, "but I guarantee you'll enjoy it more bare."

"Said the lady to the sailor," John muttered to himself. He decided to be a fucking adult and finished removing his right boot before reaching up under his pant leg to undo the straps on the other.

He hissed as the leather separated from the stump with a sickly sound. As new sweat emerged on his forehead he glanced up, on edge for any sign of solicitude or pity, ready to snap and fight at even the glimmer of either. But Flint's eyes remained assiduously on his papers, his brow furrowed in concentration.

John breathed in and out through his mouth for a moment as he waited for the dizzy sickness of pain to recede, then unfastened his trousers and pulled them off with one movement. Then he paused to contemplate the next awkward maneuver: how to make it into the tub without completely making an arse of himself. 

"What do you think about the new recruit? Starling, is it?" Flint asked suddenly, and when Silver looked up, Flint's eyes were still down, looking at the ship's log that John had brought him earlier. 

John recognized that Flint had always been good at manipulating men, even if he became blind to others' motivations when he became focused on his own goals. That's what John was there for, at least in part: to see what Flint couldn't and make sure those blindspots did not interfere with his plans. But Flint obviously knew John, and he felt his own muscles relax again, just a little, as he swung himself around in the seat and used the chair as a platform to put his foot into the water, hissing at the heat of it. 

"Starland. And I think he's got potential," he answered, silently acknowledging and thanking Flint for the distraction the conversation was from his own vulnerability. "Green as the fucking forest, but a few raids should knock that out of him. Good with the rigging, Billy tells me." 

Flint hummed, but still did not look up. John felt it was safe to swing over from the chair, gripping the sides of the tub for stability as he slowly lowered the rest of his body into the water.

At first, the sensation on his stump was almost blindingly painful, the overly hot water adding stinging to the other pain already radiating from that area. John gritted his teeth to keep from crying out, his knuckles white on the edge of the tub as he tried to hold still and wait out the sensations, hoping that the somehow miraculous healing a tub of hot water was supposed to engender would happen fucking sooner than later.

In the distance, he could hear Flint still speaking, saying something more about Starland perhaps, but he couldn't devote enough of his brain to parsing it as the heat of the water and the feeling of being immersed overwhelmed him. He thought he answered, but he couldn't be sure.

After a moment or two, he realized that while the pain was not completely disappearing, it was receding by increments, the aches in the various muscles and the sharpest pain lessening. He soon found himself leaning back against the high end of the tub, allowing his head to meet the wood, and just...floated for a moment.

Just a moment, he thought hazily, closing his eyes entirely.

He had no idea how long he lay there, eyes closed and listening to the oddly comforting sound of Flint's gravelly voice coming from the vicinity of his desk. John did know that his left thigh was trembling under the water with the release of tension. He noticed the wrenched muscles in his back easing as well.

Slowly coming back to awareness, he realized Flint had stopped speaking. Instead he could hear the man moving around. Since it was always best to know where Flint was at all times, John opened his eyes ever so slightly to be able to tell what he was up to.

Apparently, he was up to removing his own clothes, John thought distantly, watching as he removed his trousers, his boots and stockings already discarded by the desk. John could only manage to feel distantly curious as he watched Flint fold his trousers, then roll the sleeves of his shirt up his arms, but make no move to remove the shirt before advancing and kneeling by the tub, rag in hand.

John kept still and waited, watching Flint dip the rag briefly into the water, and then raise it to rub it against John's neck. Flint stared at his skin intently, and John felt exposed, again, and wondered not for the first time why he let this man, so dangerous and fierce and occasionally half-mad, so close to him. 

John reached up as Flint moved the rag to the other side of his neck, stilling it and tangling his fingers with the hand that held it there. "I'm not a child," John protested. He took the cloth and began to slowly rub it against his own skin.

Flint snorted and finally looked up into John's eyes for the first time. John forced himself to keep moving, to keep washing and acting as if his heart didn't stutter when that gaze focused on him. What did he see? 

"Then stop acting like one," Flint said, but did not pull away, merely let his hand fall down to John's chest, lazily rubbing one thumb against John's nipple, allowing his nail to catch it in passing. John's breath caught, but he kept scrubbing, as if this were an ordinary thing. "How's your leg feeling?"

That did make John pause, and he took stock. "Better," he finally settled on. "There's always pain, but it's...better." And his 'foot' had stopped itching, thank god, but he kept that observation to himself.

"I don't know why you let it get so bad. It does you no good, and it gives me no pleasure to see you like that," Flint said, watching the path his own hand was making on John's skin as it traveled below the water, down his stomach, firm and sure. 

John shuddered, feeling his cock stir. "And what would give you pleasure?" He rubbed one hand up Flint's forearm teasingly.

Flint didn't answer, but said instead, "Did you see the ship's manifest?" 

John blinked at the sudden change of topic. "Briefly. Though I'm not sure why you want to discuss the haul now," he said bewildered and letting a tiny bit of irritation sound in his voice.

Flint smiled, softly, and let his fingers tangle lightly in John's pubic hair, tugging gently, but not moving down where John wanted him to be. "Did you see where this tub was intended to go?"

John gritted his teeth in frustration and reached down, trying to guide Flint's hand just a few inches more, but the man would not be budged. "As I said, some rich prick with more money than taste," John said.

"It's a gift, actually," Flint said idly, moving his hand to circle John's hip and squeezing experimentally, smiling with pleasure as John shuddered and groaned in frustration before he looked up and met his eyes. "From the grateful, lawful citizens of New Providence to their new governor."

John paused to process that. "Are you telling me this monstrosity was meant as a bribe?"

Flint laughed. "You seem to be enjoying it well enough. I'm sure the Honorable Woodes Rogers wouldn't mind a soak now and again," he said drily.

John smiled and leaned back, giving up on the pretense of washing and spreading his thighs as much as he could to give Flint a more blatant invitation. "Captain Flint, would you be contemplating _defiling_ the Lord Governor's gift with sodomy?" he asked, and nearly cursed again when Flint's hand still avoided his rising cock and instead drifted down the inside of his right thigh. 

Flint snorted again. "I think sodomy in this tub might be more of a tactical challenge than even you and I together could meet," he pointed out, and John admitted silently the logistics would be a bit beyond him, especially at the moment. "But I was thinking of defiling it with something."

Which is when Flint moved, surging forward to capture John's mouth with his own, and finally, _finally_ grasping his prick firmly. 

Thank fuck, John thought, meeting Flint's mouth with his own, teeth clashing even as he thrust into the fist surrounding him.

God, but he loved Flint's hands: there were battle scars and callouses from gripping ropes and guns, and John could feel every one of them as Flint gripped his cock. 

"Fuck," John gasped even as Flint moved to bite along his jaw, his right hand tangled in John's hair, yanking his head to the side.

"Do you want to come now?" Flint growled into his neck, teeth running along it where it met his shoulder.

"The fuck kind of question is that?" John gasped as he reached under Flint's shirt for his cock.

Flint pulled away enough to grab at John's hand. "Not yet," he said.

John would have objected more, except Flint's other hand was still squeezing his cock in the water. "Yet?" he asked distantly, trying to find the leverage to thrust up into Flint's hand without rubbing his stump against the side of the tub.

Flint leaned forward again, and once again wrapped his free hand in John's hair, loosening the tie on his 'tail and pulling his head back. "In ten minutes," Flint said, staring at him, twisting his hand until John gasped, "I'm going to lay you in that bed and fuck you until every man eavesdropping out there can hear you beg me for more. So I ask again," he added with another twist at which John had to clench his teeth to prevent a groan, "do you want to come now or when I'm inside you?"

John leveled a glare, the best he could do with Flint's hand around his cock while being asked to hold a conversation. But fuck Flint if he thought John couldn't meet this challenge as any other. "You're mad."

Flint chuckled. "You're not the first to say so."

"It's not even the first time I've said so," John countered, and reached up to pull Flint's head back towards his own to engage another kiss of teeth and tongues.

Flint kissed him with a passion that John always found both thrilling and strangely intimidating. It's not as if Flint did anything casually, but he was never sure how he was supposed to ever match the intensity of, if not feeling, then focus. 

"Lay back," Flint growled into his mouth, though immediately dived back into the kiss. He matched actions to words and pushed John back with the force of the kiss and changed the angle of his hand on John's cock in such a way as to make him gasp. "You didn't answer my question," Flint reminded him.

"What are you planning to do with this tub?" John asked instead, gripping the sides of the tub rather than gripping Flint and trying to hold off coming. 

"Something appropriate," Flint said pointedly. He ran his teeth down the length of John's neck, and John obliged him by leaning back his head to expose more for his exploration. Flint rewarded him by biting just hard enough to cause a spark of pain. John groaned, moved that much closer to climax. "Do you want to come now?" Flint asked. 

"If I say yes?" John countered, and recaptured Flint's mouth for a moment. 

"Then you come. It's not a complicated problem," Flint answered and squeezed his cock almost painfully tight. "Then I'll fuck you until you come again or are begging me to stop."

"And if I say no?" he asked again challengingly, just to be difficult.

"Then maybe I won't let you come at all," Flint said casually, but then leaned down to bite at the top of John's chest, teeth sinking into the meat there. 

"Fuck," John said again and thrust up into the fist surrounding him.

Flint pulled back and smiled, a truly terrifying sight John knew few survived seeing. "I'll keep you on the edge and fuck you until you're begging me to let you come," Flint said, moving his hand faster below the water, while John grabbed at his wrist and tried to direct him. But as was not unusual between them, Flint wouldn't be directed. Denied purchase, John groaned again, and reached up to grasp at the beck of Flint's neck, denied purchase everywhere else and thrust into Flint's fist.

"I'll fuck you so slowly, you'll weep like a maiden," Flint growled into his ear.

John managed to open his eyes enough to glare at him for that, but Flint merely grinned wider, and twisted his hand around John's cock again. So fucking close.

"And when you're just about to come, I'll pull out and leave you alone, right there on the edge and come across your body instead," Flint said calmly, as if the last few minutes hadn't been happening at all, and pulled away. He sat back on his heels, hand merely trailing in the water and not touching him at all.

"Fuck, you murderous bastard," John choked out, and grabbed for Flint's hand again. "I will fucking kill you if you don't finish this."

Flint allowed himself to be guided this time, though he continued grinning that sadistic smile at him. "So you do want to come now?" he asked as he wrapped his hand around John again and began pumping him in earnest.

"Fucking kill you," John repeated, even as he pulled Flint closer and back into another violent kiss.

It only took a few more pulls before he came into Flint's grip, groaning into his mouth.

When it was over, Flint pulled away with one last bite to his lips. "How do you feel?" he asked, his fingers lingering once again in the hair above John's cock.

"Fucked," John said, wondering silently if he fell asleep here if Flint would just let him drown in this ridiculous tub. Not exactly a dramatic end for the most terrifying pirate of our age. He was sure Billy would write up something more dramatic.

Flint chuckled, the sound deep and still filled with arousal. "Not yet, you're not. But I did mean your leg."

"Hmmm," John said eloquently, he thought. He did give the question some thought once his brain engaged enough with his mouth again. "Better," he admitted. "Much better, in fact."

"Good," Flint said, finally pulling back, his hand lingering for a moment, going back to John's hip and squeezing before he reached for a sheet that John hadn't noticed before. "I've had a fucking cherub digging into my side this whole time. I'd hate to think it was for nothing."

John snorted, and opened his eyes enough to watch Flint move to stand. His shirt was now soaked through from both where water had overflown the tub with their movements and John's hand had trailed water down his back. The shirt clung here and there to his skin, including on Flint's unsated erection where it tented the fabric. Even so recently spent, John could not say the sight left him unmoved. "So what are you planning for this thing, if we're not going to keep it?" he asked again, even as he tried to strategize getting over to the bed with the least amount of humiliation and injury. 

Flint snorted. "Of course we're not keeping it. The thing is fucking hideous."

"And?" John asked again, more intrigued by the continued evasion.

Flint smiled again. "You'll find out," he said, and reached his hand out for John to lever himself to stand.

*

Eleanor Guthrie came down the stairs of the Governor's mansion at first light, her mind already thinking on the day's events to come. There would be many meetings with local merchants and some strategy sessions when Williams pulled into port with the newest ship later in the day. They'd already heard the supply ship had been hijacked, reportedly by Flint and his crew. Everything, however, was reportedly done by Flint and his crew these days, sometimes with the addition of Long John Silver waving a fiery saber from the masthead. Woodes was hoping to be able to hit the pirates back soon, though, as the colony would not last long if no merchants could be assured safe passage with supplies.

As she entered the foyer, intending to head towards the breakfast room, there was a commotion near the front door. It was so loud, it brought Woodes in from his office, and they both headed to the door at the same time.

"What the hell?" Woodes said, covering his nose and mouth instinctively at the smell emanating from the tub in front of them, left directly at the front entrance of the mansion.

It was a bathtub, but one with an atrocious amount of terrible carving and gilded everywhere, that could still be seen through whatever had been smeared all over it. It was also filled with piss and shit, half-rotted fish and other detritus Eleanor did not want to examine too closely to identify.

The morning sentry by the door stiffly saluted Woodes. "Your pardon, sir. We were just trying to get this cleaned up."

"Where did it come from?" Woodes asked, examining it in distaste.

"We found it here this morning, sir," the hapless guard admitted. 

"How the hell did it get here?" Woodes demanded, and the soldier looked chagrined.

"We're...investigating with the night watch, sir," was the only answer he had. "There was this note posted to it with a dagger."

Woodes took it and scanned it quickly, then rolled his eyes, sighing. He handed the letter to Eleanor before waving the soldier back to his duties and heading inside.

Eleanor was not entirely surprised to find who the letter was "from".

_Dearest Lord Governor Woodes Rogers,_

_We found this gift to you lying about a hold and wanted to make sure it reached you safely. As we also wanted to show our own level of respect, we thought we would add some personal touches._

_Yours, as always,  
Long John Silver and the Free Pirates of Nassau_


End file.
